


Kashmir

by kayeherl



Series: Are You Scared of the Dark? [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Help, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Multi, Plot With Porn, kinkiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeherl/pseuds/kayeherl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass reflects on what to do about Drexel, but is interrupted by a certain person in his bed.  Kinkiness ensues, and can Bass tempt the elusive, volatile Miles Matheson to stay long enough to heal everything wrong between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kashmir

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I’ve just figured out how to write my Bass/Miles smut that’s been percolating around in my brain for a loooooooong time. (Ever since that one episode when they finally come face to face for the first time since Miles left the Militia.) So here it is. One shot, nothing but smut with a bit of plot if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 
> 
> Please correct me on any mistakes and criticize the hell out of my work. Or, you could leave kudos if that’s your jam. Anyway, I’m going to keep this short and sweet, so yeah. Thanks!
> 
> And, as always, nothing belongs to me. (Sadly)

Drexel was the only loose end. Everything else could be explained away or brushed aside with an icy look or an offhand comment that threatened violence. But Drexel, well Drexel was the only one who had leverage. His girls were always too high on heroin to be taken seriously, and most people wouldn’t have taken Drexel seriously either. 

 

However, there were the few. And General Sebastian Monroe didn’t want any of those few to have the displeasure of meeting the heroin dealer. He had begun to devise a plan after his and Miles’ last… visit, and it had been brewing in his brain for a long while. Why he hadn’t acted on it yet, Bass knew. He didn’t admit it to himself, though. That reason was currently pillowed on his chest, breathing deep and even in a way that Bass hadn’t had the opportunity to observe very often. 

 

Miles often bolted straight after they finished, and they rarely saw each other outside of military work or going out for a drink--as friends--anymore. He would deny it for days when they left the place, treat their friendship like that was all they had, and it only made Bass want to go back more. But he couldn’t; shouldn’t want to. People would start to ask questions. 

 

Just like they would ask questions if Bass killed Drexel, like the damn asshole deserved. Suspicions would be arisen, and killing off the few people who guessed right would make it look even more suspicious. Bass sighed and reached up with his free arm, rubbing at the headache that sparked between his eyes. Miles stirred, and Bass went completely still, peering through his fingers as that vulpine face pinched in wakefulness and a reminder of the best kind of pain as he moved. Dark eyes blinked open and slid up Bass’s bare chest. 

 

Bass positively beamed. “You’re awake, finally. Thought I wasn’t going to get any more action tonight.”

 

Miles grunted incoherently and slid off of Bass’ chest. For a moment, his heart plummeted, thinking that Miles would leave to his own room, the room that Drexel provided with a sneer of contempt. For being such an amoral man, Bass would’ve thought he would have been more accepting of love in all of its forms.  _ Well, you can’t make everyone understand,  _ he thought, watching with renewed interest as Miles turned back to him, that gleam in his eye that had Bass hard in an instant. 

 

“Well, I haven’t gotten my turn yet, have I?” Miles asked, and Bass let out a noise that he would never speak of again. Though he may have commanded an entire army and led a militia, he couldn’t deny that he liked bottoming when it was Miles. It was a game for them, something that Bass found that he needed terribly. The first time had been almost an accident, and it had spiraled out into something that neither tried to stop. Bass still topped, at least a couple of times, but he loved it when Bass’ fingers almost ripped the hair of Miles’ head straight out as he yanked, driving himself deeper, deeper into Bass, all while whispering such dirty, dirty things into his ear. 

 

“Oooh,” Bass teased, sitting up and grinning at Miles, feeling the lust slowly pound through him, a second heartbeat. He watched as Miles loomed over him, the gleam in his eye bordering on bloodlust. Yes, he liked Miles like this. He loved Miles like this, all loose and alive, so different from the cool, calculated man who helped run his Militia. “Bit needy, are we?”

 

“Shut up,” Miles growled, nearly animalistic, and shoved Bass flat down onto the bed with one hand, knees straddling Bass’ in a way that let him know that there was no escaping now, even if he wanted to attempt it. Bass let out a breath and wondered if it was possible to get addicted to a person. A moment later Miles was following up with a kiss that was hard, messy, and utterly debauched. Bass groaned into his mouth and reached up, skimming fingers along Miles’ chest. Miles broke away and wound his fingers through Bass’. For a moment, Bass thought that perhaps Miles was doing something uncharacteristic, a moment of tenderness in and amongst the raw carnality of this… whatever they had. 

 

Then, Miles’ fingers tightened to the point of almost pain. His other hand came up and gripped Bass’ chin, opening his eyes and pulling him painfully into the moment. Miles hovered over him with only the muscles of his abdomen keeping him from hitting Bass’ chest. The pure power contained in that simple motion widened Bass’ eyes even more, and he took in Miles’ face. It was closed off, as it often was except for the few times he thought no one was looking at him. Bass was always looking at him. 

 

“No touching,” he said, releasing Bass’ fingers. He gave him the same smile that he gave the person he was fighting just before delivering the fatal blow. Bass’ cock twitched in interest at that smile. Oh, yes, it was going to be a good fuck. Bass tilted his head back and opened his lips, but he never got the words out, because Miles slipped his tongue into Bass’ mouth, and for a moment, Bass forgot what words were and how to best utilize them. When Miles finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. “At least,” Miles added, his voice husky as if he’d been yelling. “Not until I let you.”

 

“You are such a sadistic bastard,” Bass crooned. 

 

“You know you love it,” Miles breathed, the words a caress against Bass’ cheek. Before Bass could degrade himself even further by confirming that fact, Miles reached down and spidered a hand down his chest, leaving little lines of pain from sharp fingernails. Bass let out a breath. 

 

Bass’ hands twitched upwards, but he stopped just millimeters away from Miles’ burning heat, the only heat that could truly warm what used to be a heart. Bass wasn’t sure what it was, now. He needed Miles’ touch, but he would wait. “You’re right, of course,” he murmured as he stretched his arms above his head and waited. 

 

Miles was always one for torture. His eyes lit up in the worst-best kind of way when he was torturing. It always made Bass hard, and he’d had to stop coming to Miles’ torture sessions a long time ago because of it, because all he could see was that same look as Miles’ tongue dipped between the shift and strain of muscle, slow, even and dirty. The way his eyes would get even brighter as Bass tried and failed to contain himself. Foreplay was just another form of torture with Miles, especially because he knew that it would take a lot to break Bass, because he wasn’t some fragile, soft girl that he could whisper soft things to while holding her in his arms. No, Bass was a completely different creature. 

 

“Let me hear you,” he would whisper, the words a hot caress just short of where Bass needed Miles with the sort of burning need of the dying. Bass would still grit his teeth against the helpless little noises that came in the form of pleas and whimpers intermixed with the colorful language of utter perfection. 

 

“I bet I could make you come without even touching you,” Miles whispered against Bass’ ear when he had worked his way back up from just a few centimeters away from the throbbing need of Bass’ body, and that, right there had almost done it. Almost. But Miles pulled away at the last second, taking his body heat and that seductive voice away just a moment too soon, and he knew it. He knew how to play Bass like a fiddle. 

 

They had been made for each other, for this sordid act between brothers, Bass thought in a delirious state of almost-comatose. This was meant to be, he whispered to the darkest parts of his mind, the parts that he tried to ignore at first after the blackout, as Miles flipped him onto his stomach and he nearly laughed in relief, because relief would be not far behind. 

 

Miles didn’t treat him like a woman, and for that he was immensely grateful. He hardly prepped him, just enough to avoid an unreasonable amount of pain. Miles knew that Bass liked a little bit of pain, just like Bass knew Miles liked inflicting pleasure-pain, no matter what he might say at any other time. He supposed in a time before the blackout, they might have found themselves at a BDSM dungeon. He liked to think that, at least, in these strange moments that were so out of context of everything else in their lives.  

 

Bass let out a hiss as Miles shoved himself into him, holding himself perfectly still in an attempt to stop himself from falling to pieces around Miles. The red light that kept the room from being particularly bright felt like blood, and Bass revelled in the feeling. Miles waited until he felt Bass relax before moving. The hand that rested on Bass’ lower back, kneading the muscles there in a sort of reassurance that Bass wasn’t sure Miles was doing consciously, moved slowly up, skidding along the sweat-soaked length of Bass’ back finally slid up to rest in Bass’ curls. Bass almost let out another laugh as his head was yanked back to the point of being uncomfortable, and Miles finally  _ moved. _ The first thrust was always the hardest, because it wasn’t like Miles to go easy on Bass for anything, least of all this. If he could’ve rent him in two by this, he would have gladly, and then fucked the pieces back together into something nearly coherent. 

 

Bass gritted his teeth through it, closing his eyes for a brief moment through the pleasure-pain, intense enough to scorch him to the bone. When he regained the ability to deal with sight as well as Miles shoving into him once again, sharp hip bones pressing against his ass with each thrust. Miles’ hand gripped his hair tighter, bending his neck to a near impossible angle that caused little spikes of pain to go down his spine, but the other hand had Bass in hand, pumping him furiously, and he was  _ this _ close to coming, so incredibly, perilously close to plummeting off of that cliff of pleasure. 

 

“Miles,” he managed to choke out. “I’m gonna--” And like that, Miles let him go, both cock and hair, and paused, panting hard. Bass let out a noise of pain. Being so close and yet being denied release was Miles’ specific form of torture that he implemented nearly every time Miles topped; save the rare occasion Miles let himself completely go and got lost in the moment. Bass desperately wished that was one of those occasions. 

 

Bass was on the verge of begging when Miles pulled out, and considered simply falling to his knees and begging Miles to take mercy on him when he was turned around and shoved roughly into the bed once more. 

 

“Changed my mind,” Miles grunted, and Bass took the opportunity to see the lust darkening his eyes and loosening the tight lines that pulled his eyes sharp and unapproachable most of the time. “I wanna see you come.” To see the desire, all focused on him, so much intense emotion. Bass forgot Miles was capable of such concentrated emotion, and it took his breath away for the briefest of moments.

 

Bass opened his mouth to snipe something back, something that would get him pounded hard, but Miles was already lifting his hips and positioning himself. Bass tilted his head back, hands fisted in the sheets piled around them in complete and utter disarray. He didn’t let go as Miles angled himself at an angle so that every thrust hit Bass’ prostate. He gritted his teeth and tried to control the wild bucking of his hips as he met Miles thrust for thrust. 

 

“Come on,” Miles growled, shoving harder and harder against Bass, as if he could meld himself into him, turn them into one person. “Make some noise, Bass.”

 

Bass made some noise. He gave into the urge to bay like a rabid beast, and he allowed his hands to leave the sheets, to reach out to Miles and tug him down closer. Miles didn’t protest, urging Bass along with whispered words, eyes burning like a fever, head tilted back, exposing a throat that Bass could reach out and touch, and he did. He slid his hands down the sweat-soaked expanse of Miles’ front, feeling every sharp angle that made his body. 

 

Someone was talking, and Bass realized that it was him, murmuring Miles’ name over and over again as Miles reached down and ran a finger along the underside of Bass’ cock in a searing, burning stripe, and Bass positively shuddered as he was finally pushed over the edge. He let out a sound that he didn’t remember ever being able to vocalize before, fingers scrabbling desperately over Miles’ back, carving little rows of flesh out as he threw his head back as his vision went white. He hardly even felt it when Miles wrapped himself around Bass, head falling to the juncture that joined neck to shoulder, taking a piece of skin and muscle into his mouth and biting almost hard enough to break skin as he followed shortly after. 

 

Bass was left with that incredibly satisfied tiredness and the feel of Miles on top of him, heart hammering like a bird throwing itself against the bars of a cage and ribs digging into Bass’. He blinked his eyes open and regarded the ceiling for a few moments before considering moving. It was rare that Miles didn’t just leave right after, leaving Bass to bask in a bittersweet afterglow. He didn’t want to startle the man into reality, even though he was sure that his fingernails were still under a few layers of skin. 

 

Bass caught his breath after a few moments in which he was sure it was possible to simply stop breathing and feast himself on the way his body was shaking, to live off of it. Miles’ hands were flat against his back, Bass noticed after a few moments when all he could feel was the rasp of stubble against his neck and the way that Miles wasn’t attempting to leave. 

 

“Bass,” he eventually said, and Bass stiffened. Well, he had gotten a few minutes, at least. He started moving away before Miles could even finish, sliding himself out from under Miles. He sat up, turning away from Miles before he could see the pain that Bass couldn’t quite conceal so soon after baring his heart to Miles. 

 

He listened, focusing on the opposite wall, painted black and gleaming as if it was still wet. Miles didn’t say anything else, but after a few moments Bass felt the bed shift, and suddenly he was sinking lower into the mattress. Bass heaved a sigh and tilted his head back, considering simply laying down and sleeping before the afterglow faded and he was left with the aching hollowness that left him feeling worse than he had before he and Miles had fucked. 

 

Clothes were gathered, and Bass listened for the sound of the door. A few heartbeats later, he could sense Miles looking at him with that dark, piercing gaze that missed absolutely nothing, and Bass turned and looked at Miles. “Yes?” he asked, pasting the most nonchalant look on his face that he could manage. As he expected, Miles’ face was already closed off, carefully reconstructed into the countenance of the perfect soldier once more, and even though he was completely nude and covered in drying come, with his hair mussed and so very recently-fucked that it was almost ridiculous, he looked the furthest thing from approachable. Bass maintained eye contact, because he refused to look away, not because he could stand it. 

 

“I’m going to take a bath,” Miles said, dropping his clothes in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. Bass lifted a shoulder and turned away once again.

 

“Knock yourself out.” The only answer was the bathroom door opening and closing, and Bass felt the hollowness creeping into the pit of his stomach. Bass sighed and rolled back so that he was lying on top of the sheets. The entire bed smelled like sex and Miles, and Bass suddenly wanted to leave, but he didn’t dare leave his own room, not at a time like this. This was the time when Miles and Bass treated each other like breakable glass figurines. It was the only thing that kept their normal, healthy relationship that dominated the majority of their lives alive in between these few nights of sins. If Bass were to suddenly disappear, they might not be on speaking terms for days and that in and of itself would arouse suspicion from their subordinates. Everyone knew that Miles Matheson and Sebastian Monroe were as close as brothers. 

 

So he simply closed his eyes and remembered how they had gotten themselves into this mess. It had started in this very room a few years back. 

 

Bass had gotten incredibly drunk, as they had the whole weekend off and had somehow found himself stumbling into Miles’ room, drink in hand. He hadn’t realized that Miles had ordered a girl, and he hadn’t realized that he found Miles so utterly and helplessly attractive, especially buried balls-deep in a girl who was clearly enjoying what was happening. She even asked Bass to join them, and Bass, being in the completely amoral state the alcohol lent him, hopped into bed without a second thought. The girl had sucked him off, and he had reached over, pulled Miles over by the shoulder and kissed him full on the mouth as he came, sloppy and quite beyond anything he had ever imagined doing to Miles. Miles had kissed back, and that was that. 

 

Well, it hadn’t ended there. Bass shifted to his side, feeling a twinge of pain go up his entire body. They hadn’t spoken about it the morning after, and Bass thought that Miles was under the impression that he didn’t remember anything. Something had been different in the weeks that followed. They were awkward, something Bass and Miles had never once been, and there was enough sexual tension to walk on. 

 

It had been Miles who had pulled him into his room the next time they were there, much to Bass’ surprise. He had expected Miles to deny it up and down, to be the one to decide that they would never speak of it again. He hadn’t expected Miles shoving him up against the wall so hard that his shoulders were bruised for days afterwards and shoving his tongue so far down his throat he could hardly breathe. That had been the time where they jerked each other off, and it had progressed from there. 

 

Of course, outside of Drexel’s place, they didn’t act any different. They were brothers, friends and leaders of one of the strongest forces of what had become the great nation of America after the blackout. Miles got a particularly murderous gleam in his eye when Bass had the audacity to even allude to it outside of Drexel’s place, away from prying eyes and surrounded by the hazy smoke of sin and amorality. No one would have guessed at what happened inside of this den of sin. Bass sighed once more and considered his options once more. Perhaps if he hired a mercenary and then killed the mercenary. 

 

The door opened before Bass could fully ponder the idea. He slid his eyes lazily to the steaming, dripping Miles, freshly cleaned and looking much less like something Bass took into his bed on occasion, and more like his friend and brother, the one that wouldn’t consider anything other than that. He sighed. So it was one of those nights. It was always one of those nights. He closed his eyes in preparation of Miles leaving without another word, but after a few moments, he could still feel Miles. The man was impossible to ignore, always thrumming with excess energy and danger. Bass cracked an eye open. “Am I lying on your underpants?” he asked dryly. 

 

Miles hesitated, and Bass immediately sat up. Miles never hesitated, and he certainly never broke eye contact when he was being challenged. “Move your ass over,” he said a moment later, taking a step forward, and then another, until he was at the side of the bed. Bass blinked dumbly at him for several moments before sliding over. Miles sat down beside Bass and reached forward, taking his hand and twining the fingers through. “You were always a bed hog,” he said, tipping his head back and glancing at the ceiling before turning and giving Bass a quick smile. 

 

“Miles,” Bass said half confusion, half wonder. “What are you--”

 

Miles reached forward and placed a single finger on Bass’ lips, stopping any further words. Bass froze, eyes wide and looking at Miles. “I’ll stay here the night with you, if you don’t mind,” he said, smiling slightly. Bass blinked slowly, wondering if this was him dreaming and if he would wake alone as he often did, the sweet burn of Miles’ name on his lips and causing his heart to rend. 

 

“Not at all,” Bass said, and it was almost breathy--fucking girly. He positioned himself so that he could face Miles, pillowing his head on one arm and draping the other along his side. He needed to clean himself off; he smelled like sex and sweat, but Drexel’s girls wouldn’t be bringing clean water for awhile.”To what do I owe this honor?” he continued as Miles pressed his back against Bass’ front so that Bass could feel the curve of his spine and the strength of his back with every breath. Bass draped his arm over Miles’ shoulder and pulled him closer. 

 

“You were a good boy,” Miles said, and there was so much more contained in those words. Bass chuckled, even though he didn’t find it funny. Odd that he would be saying that. Everything about this situation was odd. But Bass wasn’t complaining, not one bit. As they settled together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle--two people who completed each other in a way that couldn’t quite be explained--and Miles started humming Led Zeppelin’s  _ Kashmir,  _ Bass thought that this couldn’t get any more perfect. He pressed a kiss to Miles’ head and closed his eyes. Bass had the distinct impression he fell asleep with a smile on his lips for the first time in forever. 

 

00800

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Finished! Let me know what you think? I’m open to suggestions and changes, and if anything major (glaringly major) that isn’t canon compliant, please let me know so I can fix it. I’m really bad about fixing things, but I’m trying to get better. Thank you!


End file.
